I said I'm fine
by YouFightThoseFairies
Summary: Deans father always told him to watch out for his brother and he always did. That's his job. But he can be a little overprotective sometimes and after a ghost hunt Sam's annoyed and overreacts... Protective!Dean - hurt!Sam - Shapeshifter!Sam - Oneshot. No ships, just two brothers. No spoilers for the later seasons. Warnings: blood and some swearing (because it's Dean Winchester)


As this is both my first fanfiction about supernatural and my first one in english I'd love to hear your thoughts about it! My mother tongue is German and most of the time I just went with my gut so I'm sorry for any mistakes. And I especially apologize for the commas. I never know where to put them. I hope you'll give me a chance and enjoy reading this anyway.

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"Gross." Dean wiped the blood off his forehead. It wasn't his, luckily. It had been a pretty close one. Fighting against a werewolf Dean had lost his gun. And his silver knife only caused his face getting splashed with blood but didn't slow the creature down. The werewolf had been about to attack Dean when Sam shot it.

"So you're saying it'll be a quick salt n burn?", Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "The town's only a few miles away and we can stay in a motel over there."

"Fine. Hit me with the facts."

"Middle aged woman got strangled. Her husband saw the murderer and swears that it was his own mother."

"Why's that our kind of thing?"

Sam shot a meaningful look at Dean. "His mother died yesterday."

"Ah. Pretty unusual for a ghost to be powerful enough to kill so soon, don't you think?"

"Definitively unusual. But her body isn't buried yet, it's still in their house so it should be easy to burn her. They laid her in the guest bed, the article actually mentioned that."

"Eww, why?"

Sam shrugged. "Apparently having more time to say good bye helps with closure. I say we hope the guy isn't home, break in and hope burning her will be as simple as it seems."

Only twenty-five minutes later Dean was searching the ground floor for the guest room, Sam checked upstairs. Dean slowly walked through the living room. Nobody had answered the door but he didn't want to risk bumping into someone. On the ground floor there was only a bathroom, the kitchen and a spare room where the family probably put everything they didn't know where else to put.

Dean immediately turned around when he heard noise from upstairs. "Dean!"

Dean sprinted out of the room, through the living room and upstairs. "Sam!" He yelled back. To let Sam know that he was on his way. Or maybe just out of habit. He heard glass break and wished he would be faster. Dean rushed around a corner in the hallway and ran into Sam who was just about to walk out of a room.

"Where's the ghost?" They were losing way too much time. She could be back any second.

"I burned her body", Sam replied. The fact that Deans eyes widened in surprise mad him add: "She appeared while I was spilling the salt over her body. She threw a vase at my head but I got my lighter in the nick of time."

Dean relaxed and realised how tense he had been. His eyes met the broken vase on the ground. It had smashed into more than a dozen pieces. Must have hit Sam pretty hard. "Are you okay?" Dean reached out his hand to put Sam's hair out of his forehead.

"Dude!" Sam pushed Dean's arm away. "I'm fine, honestly."

"Turn around, let me check the back of your head."

"No." Sam said it not very loudly but so clearly that Dean took a step back. "Fine but don't you dare to complain about any little tickle later."

"I said I'm fine."

Dean demonstratively rolled his eyes. "Let's go the motel."

The car ride happened in silence. Dean had no idea what gotten into his brother. What a stubborn pain in the ass. When they had arrived and finally checked in, Dean tossed his duffel bag onto the bed closest to the door. "It's your turn to clean the weapons", Dean told Sam, took some fresh clothes with him and went to take a shower. As soon as the water hit the werewolf blood, it ran down his face again. It paled pretty quickly mixing with the water. Dean realised how much he disliked blood. In the beginning, when he started hunting or maybe already when his dad came home bleeding, blood had been scary. Later Dean got used to it. It was and will be always a part of his job. But right now he hated it. Its smell, its texture, how it felt when it dried on his skin. Maybe Dean was just in a bad mood anyway, a little pissed. Too many hunts in a row, Sam... for whatever reason.

Dean enjoyed the blood getting washed away and he let the hot water rain down on his face for longer than needed because it felt like the water purified him.

When he got out of the bathroom Sam winced. "What's wrong?" Dean could only see his back but his shoulders were bent forward and he grabbed a towel.

"Did you cut yourself?" Dean walked over to him and saw that Sam was holding his hands over the wink and was pressing the towel against his palm. "How did you manage to do that?" It was a rhetorical question but Sam turned around and replied: "By cleaning the silver knife. I'm not that clumsy, usually."

Normally Dean's respond to a sentence like that would be teasing and putting Sam in a bad light by objecting that he was the clumsiest guy on earth and maybe even heaven and hell – but Dean didn't. Because Sam was never clumsy. He was careful. He never cut himself cleaning a knife.

"Let me see." Dean demanded. "Maybe I need to bandage it."

Sam pulled his hand away.

"Do you want me to help you or not?!" Dean knew he couldn't hide his annoyance so didn't even try.

"No thanks."

Dean was surprised, he had expected Sam to give up.

"I'm not ten anymore. I'm okay. I can look after myself." He explained when Dean didn't say anything.

"Dude you obviously can't, you just hurt yourself _cleaning_ a weapon. C'mon gimme your hand."

"Stop acting like you're my mother. Just leave it okay?"

"Okay." The second time today Dean gave up. If he shouldn't help Sam he could at least wash the blood off the silver knife. but he still felt a bit useless just doing that.

"You see what I mean?" Sam said. "You're so overprotective that you're cleaning it yourself now. You don't want me to cut myself again and think I should rest for a moment, take a break. I'm sick of that! I'm not weak. And I'm not a child anymore, how long does it take you to freakin realise that? Decades!"

"Well then stop having tantrums like a child." Dean didn't sound as confident as he would like to. He couldn't quite shoot back.

"Oh please. You're the child. You're the one who doesn't grow up. You should have enjoyed being an independent adult and being free but you asked your brother to work with you because you don't wanna be alone. Get your life together."

"Pff. It's your fault you agreed working with me."

"I pitty you."

Deans eyes were only small slots. His fists and arms were tense and he resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

"You wanna look after somebody? Fine. Get a wife, a kid, get a life. But I'm sick of being that somebody." Sam said and Dean picked up his jacket from a chair so harshly that his hand scraped against the wood. "I don't need you."

Those four last words hit Dean the most. He swallowed. "I need some air." He opened the door and shut it close.

Cold wind hit Deans face. Sometimes it really sucked sharing a motel room: you've got nowhere to escape to. Dean pulled his jacket closer. A shiver ran down his spine but it couldn't be the freezing weather that made his knees shaky. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but he wasn't angry, well not only angry, he was actually hurt. The worst thing was that he understood Sams point. Sam was right, Dean did need to be needed. It's always been his job to watch out for Sam, he didn't know it differently. _Take your brother outside as fast as you can._ He grew up like that, how could he ever stop to care what happened to his brother? Hunting is a very deadly thing, anything could happened. Hunters died all the time. Hell, even Sam had died multiple times and Dean hadn't been able to protect him from that. That was reason enough to watch out for him, wasn't it? But maybe he was babying him too much when it came to smaller things?

Deans thoughts span around until he went back to the motel because it kept getting colder.

When he came back Sam had already fallen asleep. Dean turned off the TV and silence spread across the room. There wasn't any noise from outside or the neighbour motel rooms which was atypical. Despite the peaceful quietness Dean couldn't sleep. To many thoughts where bouncing through his mind over and over again. An hour later he heard Sam get up and although he was very quiet Dean noticed he was approaching Deans bed. He couldn't help but feel conspicuous. He suddenly wished he wouldn't lie with his back to the rest of the room. But he didn't turn around until he was sure Sam was pretty close. In one move he swung around and slung the gun pointed at him away. He used his momentum and punched his attacker with his other hand. Sam lurched back and Dean pushed him. With his arm pressed against Sam's throat he pinned him against the wall.

"Who are you? Where's my brother?" Dean yelled.

The demon or angel or whatever processed Sam laughed. "Took you long enough..."

Rage boiled in Dean. The... thing dared to look him in the eyes – it didn't seem intimidated at all, not even a little bit scared. "Christo!"

It laughed even louder and that made Dean angrier. No demon. He let his arm go a little bit just to batter it in its face. Not-Sam hissed but built up his grin again. "Don't hurt poor Sammy."

With all of his energy Dean struck his elbow at its nose. Instinctively it raised its hand although Dean had made it impossible to move it very far. But the hand caught Deans attention and he saw the burns in its palm. The silver knife... "Sonofabitch!" The creature in front of him had to be a shapeshifter. This wasn't Sam's possessed vessel, Sam was somewhere else – so Dean could kill it! Dean tried to take a look around to search for a gun with silver bullets. "I would have enjoyed to see you suffer for a while longer. You killed so many of my kind. I wasn't lying though, you know? You're well aware I've got Sams memories, I know what he feels and thinks." Shut up. Please shut up. The silver knife was too far away. Dean had a snowball's chance in hell to reach it in time. "I just told you what Sam didn't, you know? He's sick of your over protectiveness. Funny how emotional that makes the tough Dean Winchester."

Finally Dean spotted his gun on the dresser on the other side of the room. A bit risky but doable. And Dean didn't want to spend time thinking of a plan B if the shifter kept talking. "Why are you so quiet? You didn't even ask me how long I've been hanging out with you as Sam."

"For long enough", Dean said and his fist hit the creatures nose. The breaking sound hung in the room for a second while Dean jumped as far as possible, reaching out his hand. His wrist crashed against the edge of the dresser but his finger managed to make the gun fall off the shelf. He got a better grip of it and pointed it at the shifter.

Sam's body froze, one hand holding his nose. "Don't. If you kill me you'll never know where your brother is, will you?"

But when he looked into the creatures face but didn't see just Sam's face but the expressions from someone else Dean didn't hesitate anymore. He pulled the trigger. The silver bullet paced its way right into the monsters heart. It stumbled and fell on its back.

Dean looked at Sam's motionless body and tried to slow down his own breath. In and out. Until he doubled the time breathing out than breathing in. For a moment he couldn't take his eyes of the lifeless body but then turned around, closed the motel door and got in the impala.

He fell into the seat and tracked Sam's phone. The location blinking on this screen was the motel. The shifter probably had take Sam's phone. Crap. Dean turned the key and head to their last destination: the old lady's house.

Tonight the familiar purr of his car didn't calm him down as he drove through the dark streets. He starred out of the front window and concentrated on thinking back. When did Sam started to act weirdly? For how long had he been fooled by the doppelganger without noticing? But his thoughts kept being pulled back to what Shifter-Sam had said. A pure lie wouldn't have hurt him, he would have felt that it didn't make sense. But it did. Like the creature said itself the shifter could really have built on thoughts and feelings that Sam already carried inside him.

Dean hit the brake strongly because he nearly passed the house. He left the car and dashed to the house.

C'mon. Be there.

It looked exactly like it did when he had left. Its owner hadn't been there for the night for whatever reason.

Please. C'mon.

Dean climbed through the living room window again. "Sam? Sam, you here? Sam!" Dean went upstairs and called again.

"Dean?" He barely heard the voice but could at least guess its direction. He walked into the same room where he had bumped into Sam yesterday and walked past the pieces of the broken vase. "Sam!"

"In the closet." Dean heard Sam's voice louder now. He opened the door into the bedroom and noticed the sofa blocking the closet door. He leaned against it, put both of his feet against the wall and pushed. As soon as he got the couch to move he could get it out of the way fast. The closet door swung open and he saw Sam sitting on the ground, one bloody hand still in the air from pushing the door open. Relief flooded Deans soul and apparently he wasn't the only one.

"You gonna help me up?" Sam said and waved his hand a little more in Deans direction. Dean grabbed it and pulled him up. Sam inhaled deeply and pressed his teeth together. When he stood on his two feet Dean unloosed his grip and turned Sam's arm a little bit to take a better look at his cuts. Like his other arm it was full of the small lines and dried blood.

"The dead mother threw a vase at my face and I protected it with my arms. It wasn't a ghost, it – "

"... was a shapeshifter." Dean finished the sentence but still didn't look up from Sam's arm. "Anything else?"

"A bit of a headache from when the vase hit me. Maybe some bruises when she manhandled me into the closed. I passed out for a bit. Nothing serious."

Dean finally let go. "Good." He took a few steps back and the brothers head downstairs. Sam seemed a bit dizzy, he moved slower than usual and carefully, but he was okay. They were only a couple meters away from the front door when they heard a key move in the lock. The luck wasn't on their side tonight. Dean clutched Sam's shoulder and dragged him through the first door in the hallway, which happened to be the small bathroom's. They heard the front door opening and the house owner was happily humming a drinking song. Alcohol against the lost. The bathroom window was narrow but Dean decided it still was the best way to get out quickly and opened it. He stood on the closed toilet and put one leg out. Dean had to duck and keep his arms close to get his upper body through and awkwardly jump out. Then he turned around to help Sam. "How?", Sam whispered with raised eyebrows. No way he would fit through like Dean did.

"Head first."

Sam didn't look very convinced but did like he was told to. His shoulders barely fit through but Dean hold them with his hands and own shoulder so he could pull Sam out. They ran to the impala and Dean noticed Sam checking his arms, where some cuts started bleeding again from climbing out of the house.

They both got into the car and head back. Sam was resting his head against the window, Dean drove. Now that all the adrenaline had left his veins he realised how exhausted he was. They had hunted way too many things this week and tonight Dean hadn't been able to get any sleep. He focused on staying awake and Sam had fallen asleep so they drove in silence.

When they arrived at the motel Dean gently punched Sam's shoulder to wake him up. In their room Sam went straight to the kitchen sink and let the water run over his arms. Dean opened his mouth but then decided not to ask Sam if he was okay. He didn't want to be annoying. Even though he didn't ask, Sam said: "I got the few piece that were stuck in my skin out so it looks okay now. There's only one that might need some stitches."

"Should... I stitch it up?"

"Of course, I can't do it with one hand!"

Dean knew Sam definitively had stitched his arm with one hand before but was glad he was allowed to help. The younger one sat on his bed and Dean got a clean wet towel and the first aid kit. Sam really could have done that himself but he let Dean attended his cuts with a disinfection spray and wrapped bandages around both arms so it could heal probably.

"I think it'll be okay without stitches." Dean said and zipped the kit up. He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned. "Think I'm gonna crash."

Sam looked over to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." Dean stretched out on his bed.

"How did you realise it was a shifter?"

"It tried to kill me in my sleep. Didn't want to risk fighting me awake I guess. Or just had fun playing Sam for a while cause it knew who we are and how many sons of bitches like him we killed. Revenge."

"Must have been weird to kill me."

"Nah, I often wish I could just kill your annoying ass", Dean joked.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment but then escaped his thoughts of Sam's dead body and pulled his cosy blanket up.

"I don't wanna have to leave at check out time tomorrow morning. Too early. We should take a day off. Sleep in, go for a jog in the park, eat something healthy instead of fast food, have a movie evening. Head out tomorrow."

"Yeah let's do that", Dean said. He buried his head in the pillow and finally relaxed.

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Thank you for reading my story till the end. Feel free to leave a review I'd appreciate it very much.


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